


Sempiternus

by kamerlort



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamerlort/pseuds/kamerlort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life wasn't perfect, but it couldn't get any more horrific on the S.O.L., as far as Mike knew. It was steady sailing from here on in until he figured out a way to escape, return to earth, and continue his life as a temp with no real further ambitions in life. </p><p>And that's where it sort of began to unfold and tear apart at the seams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sempiternus

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit ..... i did it ......... here it is my first fic ever my first written fanfiction my first smut my first everything i cant even believe this ....... All thanks for this monstrosity go 2 my friend parker ! 
> 
> i would highly encourage listening to the songs mentioned in the fic either during or after they are mentioned ! heres the list
> 
> fleetwood mac - go your own way  
> al green - lets stay together  
> kc and the sunshine band - that's the way (i like it)  
> elvin bishop - fooled around and fell in love  
> barry white - cant get enough of your love baby
> 
> (((if its not apparent @ this point im 70s music trash)))
> 
> okay so a little background info too ive shipped mike/forrester since i was a kid and was extremely disappointed when i found none here on ao3 ... so here ya go, some mike/forrester nobody ASKED 4 ........

Michael J. Nelson had experienced several unlucky occurrences throughout his lifetime. Not to brag, but it was a rather **embarrassingly** long list. When he was six, he had gotten lost in the local grocery outlet one summer day and had been so terrified that he would be taken away by a stranger that he hid beneath one of the produce stands. Overnight. Until his mother had found him the next morning, of course, in complete hysterics. Middle School also fared some pretty bad moments, like when Mike had accidentally locked his braces with a new girlfriend during lunch and the pair had to travel to the hospital with their mouths still smushed together. It had taken three hours to unmangle them, and she never spoke to him again after that. On his twenty-first birthday, Mike had gone to Las Vegas with his buddies to get blackout drunk, and after a night of severe partying and intoxication, woke up in a parking lot in New Mexico. With no pants. And a rather mysterious taste in his mouth that was _vaguely_ reminiscent of peaches.

 

The most prominently "bad" experience that topped the list, however, was almost certainly when he set foot (unwillingly) onto the _Satellite of Love_. If he had been presented with the decision of living on the spacecraft (which he had not), Mike was almost certain he would have passed at the chance. In fact, Mike was pretty sure he would have quit his temp job at Gizmonic Institute, run back home to Wisconsin, and stayed there for as long as he deemed necessary.

 

Unluckily for him, he didn't have the luxury of deciding for himself, and Mike was instead stuck on the **S.O.L.** for what looked like the rest of eternity. So much for escape by Hamdingers.

 

And yet, despite the grim situation Mike found himself in by being captive to a pair of madmen and forced to watch terrible movies every week, Mike eventually began to feel more content than he had ever felt at home. The robots he befriended, Tom Servo, Crow, Gypsy, and Cambot, had made life on the **S.O.L.** a little less like hell and a little more like . . . _purgatory_. A sort of limbo between suffering and enlightenment, that took form in Pop Culture references of the late 20th century and quips about Joe Don Baker. All in all it could have been worse, and in his life Mike had certainly experienced worse, at the hands of less threatening people than Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank. He was still alive to say the least, he had good company, was well fed and got the best view of Earth from anywhere in the galaxy. Life wasn't perfect, but it couldn't get any more horrific on the **S.O.L.** , as far as Mike knew. It was steady sailing from here on in until he figured out a way to escape, return to earth, and continue his life as a temp with no real further ambitions in life.

 

And that's where it sort of began to unfold and tear apart at the seams.

 

-

 

"Are you sure that's . . . cooked all the way?"

 

"I'm sure."

 

"Alright . . . are you absolutely sure?"

 

" _MIKE!_ " A golden robot screeched as he threw a burnt piece of toast towards the figure in front of him. A slight dodge to the left spared a direct hit, but permitted tiny charcoal flakes to scatter across his jumpsuit shoulder. Brushing them off halfheartedly, the man smiled and leaned in towards the bot over the table.

 

"I'm just making sure. I've never had your cooking before Crow, I want to know that you won't kill me when I eat it."

 

"Trust me Mikey-boy, I had Servo give me a few pointers," Crow said snarkily in reply, mechanical arms moving at a rapid pace as they added and mixed ingredients together in a green Tupperware bowl. A chef's hat, perched perilously askew on top of his head, was caked in flour. His body fared no better, powder patches spotting all over him in a reverse-dalmatian fashion. It was a rather adorable sight, to say the least.

 

Mike sat down in the chair opposite to the robot's makeshift kitchen. The break room rarely saw this much action since his arrival on board. The only signs that it had ever been occupied previously was a coffee machine covered in stains and grime, and a refrigerator that had several drawings magnetized to the front (courtesy of Crow and Servo, featuring masterpieces such as _Mike gets Blown Up_ ).

 

Mike's attention was brought back to his companion when the distinct _ding!_ of the microwave oven went off. Dancing a little in excitement, the bot retrieved his final dish, setting it and the others in front of Mike.

 

"Ta-da! Whaddya think? Is this not the most impressive birthday breakfast you've ever seen?" Crow exclaimed.

 

Mike stared at the assortment of what Crow deemed to be food. A pile of brown mush in a bowl, eggs that had a slightly green tint to them, and toast so burnt it looked like volcanic ash. Using a fork, he poked at the eggs, grimacing as they jiggled in an unnatural way.

 

"Well I certainly agree with you, this is not the most impressive birthday breakfast I've ever seen " he said cautiously. Crow gasped, scandalized. He threw one of his oven mitts down next to Mike in anger.

 

"I slave all morning trying to make my friend's birthday a good one, and this is the thanks I get?" He huffed. Mike tried to respond in defense but was cut off at the last second as he heard the door slide open behind him, Servo entering his periphery.

 

"Hey Mike, Crow, did you finish the - _**OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!**_ " Servo screeched, springy little arms pointing towards the table of food in horror. Another piece of toast was sent careening through the air (almost immediately) and hit the smaller robot directly across the mouth. Servo spluttered, and Crow laughed at the sight.

 

"It's my birthday breakfast," Mike responded with a weak glare at the two. "Crow worked very hard on it and . . . I'm actually quite proud of him." He lied.

 

"Oh Mike, you mean it?" Crow gushed, breaking away from his taunting at Servo and turning to face the human with eyes that seemed to glow. He seemed to have recovered from his initial sorrow at Mike's thinly veiled criticism in an instant. Mike himself was torn by the look of admiration on the bot's face, and he nodded with as much gusto as he could muster in response. He would please Crow just this once. After all, it had been a very kind gesture, albeit misguided.

 

"Definitely. Mom always said, it's the _thought_ that counts!" Mike said with enthusiasm. Crow nodded erratically, seemingly unaware that the man had yet to actually compliment his meal. He hurriedly shoved the plate of eggs directly under Mike's nose in response, repeating a mantra of _eat eat eat!_ as he hopped around from foot to foot.

 

Mike felt his stomach drop as the smell of it hit his nose. Suppressing a gag and a shudder, he daintily picked up his fork, plucked the dish from Crow's hands, and set it down on the table in front of him. It looked authentic enough to be straight out of Dr. Seuss's _Green Eggs and Ham_. He could hear Servo, fully recovered from the toast assault, snickering behind him as he contemplated the food before him. Trying his best to ignore the bastard's giggles, Mike stared the plate down and ever-so-slowly dug his fork into the eggs.

 

_They crunched._

 

Praying that he could keep it together for Crow's sake (and his stomach's sake as well), Mike shoveled the forkful of eggs into his mouth, making sure to cut off air from his nose in favor of not smelling them as well. As expected, it tasted . . . **awful**. There was no way that the eggs hadn't been rotten prior to Crow cooking them. He swallowed them the second they hit his tongue, and when they safely reached their destination without any immediate worry of being thrown back up, Mike snatched his cup of coffee and downed the drink in one go.

 

"Well . . . what did you think?" Crow queried, leaning in to Mike's personal space with a tense expression.

 

"It was . . . great . . ." Mike replied weakly, stomach churning as the eggs began to interact with a doughnut from earlier.

 

"Certainly tastes better than it looks, huh Mike?" Servo said coyly. Mike swung around at breakneck speed to glare at him, eyes dangerously dark as he motioned a finger across his neck before swinging back around towards Crow.

 

"It was beyond my expectations, that's for sure."

 

"Great! Now that you've tried the eggs, you gotta eat my own specially-made dish called _Crow's Cookie Casserole!_ "

 

"Is that . . . made with the casserole leftovers from last week?" Mike croaked, eyeing the bowl of brown mush that revealed tiny bits of ground-up pasta.

 

"Yep!" Crow said with a smile.

 

"And you . . . mixed the leftover casserole with unbaked cookie dough?"

 

"You would be _correct!_ " Crow hollered. If he had thought the eggs were bad there was no imagining what _Crow's Cookie Casserole_ would do to his digestive track. Mike couldn't even begin to formulate how he would get out of this one.

 

It was at that moment that the message lights went off, signaling a call from Dr. Forrester. Mike nearly cried at relief for the first time at the sight and stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over, tripping over it and smacking the back of his thigh as he made a move for the door. He probably looked like a madman himself but he couldn't care less.

 

"C'mon guys, we nearly have Movie Sign!" Mike threw over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Crow tossing his hat off with a grumble and Servo following close behind. As they left the break room and headed for the transmission room, Mike began to feel better, brushing off his clothes and falling into pace beside his two friends as they hurried to catch up.

Thankfully, with the experiment going on, Crow would most likely forget about the whole ordeal and Mike would be spared another life-threatening dish. Hopefully, it would all be over and he could forget about the whole ordeal. Hopefully, things would turn out for the better.

 

-

 

Instead, it actually got worse.

 

**_A lot worse._ **

 

When Mike returned to his room after the experiment and turned in for the night, he woke up the next morning and promptly retched all content from his stomach into the garbage can next to his bed. Woozy and disorientated, he made his way to the restrooms at a snail's pace and stood shakily before observing himself in the mirror. Dark circles resided beneath his eyes, which were bloodshot. Mike was not of a considerably dark skin tone, but the paleness of his skin almost matched the bleach tiles beneath his feet. All in all, he looked like shit.

 

After turning the shower on to the hottest temperature, he disrobed and entered. Despite having sensitive skin like a newborn baby, the sharp sting of boiling water slicing across his back did little to invoke a reaction. Mike was freezing. After attempting to soak what little warmth the shower expelled, he lathered his hair and body with the accuracy of a drunk person. Shampoo stung his eyes and managed to enter his mouth, pungent and definitely not accurate in taste as in smell (which was green apple, a favorite of his that the sickness prohibited him from enjoying).

 

A few minutes of hellish eye stinging with little progress made in the cleansing area, Mike gave up and shut the water off, a soapy film still stuck over his arms and chest. He blindly stuck a hand out between the shower curtains in search of his towel, snatching it up when it made it's way (surprisingly) to him.

 

"You're welcome," a tinny voice echoed as Mike pressed the towel to his face. He jumped, nearly knocking over the shampoo bottle he perched precariously on the shelf next to him. Snatching the curtains in his hand, he stuck his head out of the shower and was greeted by the image of Crow looking impeccably smug with Mike's fresh jumpsuit in his arms.

 

"Crow," Mike snarled, voice raw and throaty, "what are you doing in the restroom, especially when I'm taking a shower?!"

 

"Jeez Louise, I know you're naked but don't get your tighty-whities in a twist. Servo and I heard you puking your brains out and we realized you headed to the bathroom without a new set of clothes. Luckily, because I'm such a nice person, I decided to help you out and bring you some. After all, what if you had to walk around the **S.O.L.** naked and the Mads saw you?"

 

Mike's cheeks burned at the sudden thought of Frank - or worse, Dr. Forrester - seeing him naked. It was already impersonal enough, the cameras and constant surveillance as if Mike had been a member of the royal family with people trying to kill him every ten minutes. The last thing he needed was either of them to see his nether regions. He quickly shut the curtain in exasperation, wrapped the towel around his waist, and exited the shower, pushing Crow to the side with a little more force than necessary. Being sick, it wasn't much of a difference. Turning toward the robot, he weakly pointed to the door and told Crow to **get lost**. Crow scoffed in reply, grumbling under his breath about the lack of appreciation he deserved and left Mike to his bearings.

 

Once Mike was positive Crow wasn't going to pop up while he was getting dressed, he quickly threw a pair of briefs, a white t-shirt, and his signature green jumpsuit on. Glancing in the mirror after applying deodorant and towelling his hair dry had been an honest mistake. His skin was slightly more flushed but his eyes were still prominently purple. Head pounding, stomach still in a limbo between vomiting and brewing, Mike left the bathroom in lieu of finding a medicine cabinet and a glass of cold water. The bots would understand that Mike was in no mood for company and would probably leave him to sulk in his room. He deserved it, after all it was his darn kindness and inability to say no to Crow's puppy dog eyes that made him sick in the end. Those eggs had truly tasted awful.

 

-

 

"What do you mean there's no medicine on the **S.O.L.**?" Mike uttered, voice heavy and barely above a whisper. Servo laughed nervously, floating behind Mike as the man slowly shut another drawer in the break room, searching for an Aspirin or Tylenol or something that would make him feel less like a corpse and more like a human being again. Turning to face the smaller robot, he plastered on a smile, fake and threatening.

 

"W-well Mike, you see, it's virtually impossible to get sick in space alone, so the Mads thought it was unnecessary to provide first aid!" Servo rambled. Mike deflated at his answer, opting instead to sit down heavily in the chair beside him, resting his head in his hands. He sighed, lungs rasping and shuddering as he pushed out a few moist coughs into the crook of his arm. Mike could hear Servo shifting towards him before he felt a tiny hand brush gently against his shoulder. Bless him and his capacity to understand human emotions.

 

"I'm sorry Servo," Mike whimpered, "I don't mean to take out my frustration at Crow on you. It's just that . . . the thought of no medicine and having to recuperate on my own is a nightmare."

 

"I understand," Servo said in reply. "You certainly are in no condition to move, let alone breathe. Food poisoning is dangerous to you meatbags, huh?"

 

"Yeah. If it goes untreated or unmedicated, I could get dehydrated or . . .  receive Salmonella."

 

Servo shook his head, tutting as paced back and forth in front of Mike. He would pause, gasp _a-ha!_ every so often, before he would continue shaking his head and whispering to himself. Mike followed his movement, slowly finding himself becoming dizzy and grabbing the garbage can to his left just in case he had to hurl. His stomach growled, tightening and twisting like a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around it. Mind swimming, Mike's head lolled around as he began to fall asleep to the sound of Servo's mutterings and the harsh fluorescent lights above him humming.

 

" ** _I GOT IT!_** " Servo screeched suddenly. Mike jumped in shock, and was sent sprawling to the floor, knocking his knees as he went. Bracing his fall with the palms of his hands, Mike could feel the sting as his entire weight was thrown onto them. He let out a long sigh between clenched teeth, rolling over onto his back as he met Servo face to face.

 

"And what would that be, honey?" Mike whispered, condescendingly sweet. Servo let out a chuckle, seemingly amused by Mike's jumpiness (and embarrassing fall).

 

"Why not just ask the Mads to send up more medicine?" Servo said slowly. Mike quickly opened up his mouth to respond with a scathing _no that would never work_ before he stopped and realized that . . . it could work.

 

**It could work.**

 

Sitting up and adjusting himself into the crisscross applesauce position, Mike quickly went through the pros and cons of how the situation would pan out if Mike _did_ ask the Mads for aid. For starters, he could imagine the look on Dr. Forrester's face as he laughed at Mike's demise. He would probably call Mike something along the lines of _doofus_ or _moron_ or _single celled organism_. Frank, his little toad of a partner, would probably come up with a less insulting (but still quite insulting) remark to please his more capable boss. They would _laugh_ and _laugh_ and _laugh_ at Mike before letting him endure the sickness.

 

Then again, there was also the possibility that they would comply to Mike's demands. After all, he was their only test subject. If he died or got too ill, where would the Mads find another hopeless dope to send into space? It was at least worth a try.

 

". . . All right," Mike nodded, smiling at Servo with genuine affection. "Let's go call Dr. Forrester and have a little chat." Servo echoed his enthusiasm in reply as the pair got up and went in search of Crow.

 

-

 

"Ready?"

 

"Ready."

 

Mike's fist slammed down on the button that would signal the Mads of his presence, Crow and Tom Servo waiting anxiously at his sides. He sniffled, wiping his forearm quickly across his nose in an attempt to look somewhat presentable to them before the screen began to fuzzily form an image of Dr. Forrester and Frank in the flesh. It slowly began to grow clearer, and Mike could make out a squabble between the pair as Frank's hands desperately moved across the transmission panel in an attempt to regain the signal. When the audio joined video, Dr. Forrester quit berating Frank and cleared his throat, settling his hands behind his back.

 

"Michael, robots," he began, voice haughty and proud. "Whatever is so important that you had to interrupt our scheduled _Baywatch_ viewing?"

 

"Well you see Sir," Mike began before cutting himself off with another bout of coughs. Dr. Forrester and Frank seemed to gravitate closer to the screen, faces puzzled.

 

"Are you sick?" Frank said, voice surprisingly tinted with concern. Dr. Forrester swung around to glare at the man before going on a whispering tirade, Mike only catching a few words like _obvious_ and you _idiot_ and _he's sick_. He turned to face Mike when he finished, grimace morphing into a less suitable smile.

 

"Although it is quite apparent that you seem to have caught the ickies, _how_ you managed to catch them is beyond me." He exclaimed.

 

"No kidding," Crow snickered. "Everything is beyond this bozo." Servo snorted a laugh in reply, the two of them high-fiving at the clever quip. Mike glared at the bots, hissing a well mannered _pipe down_ before turning his attention back to the screen.

 

"Well Dr. Forrester, you see, Crow here made me some breakfast for my birthday yesterday, and accidentally poisoned me with rotten eggs. I'm very sick and there's no medicine on board, so - "

 

" - So you were wondering if I would be so kind as to send a little _T.L.C._ your way?" Dr. Forrester finished. Mike blanched, shutting his mouth before nodding in reply.

 

"That was the idea, yeah," he finished lamely. Dr. Forrester nodded, positioning a thumb and a forefinger beneath his chin and steepling his other arm beneath his elbow. He said no words, merely stroking his chin and pondering Mike's request. Frank stared at him, wringing his hands in anticipation as he waited for his response. Mike felt sweat begin to collect on his back and forehead as he too looked to Dr. Forrester for his answer. After about ten seconds of complete and utter silence, the scientist nodded, and turned to face the trio once more.

 

"No," he said with a smile.

 

" **What!?** " Mike and Frank echoed in unison.

 

"I said no. Be a big boy Mike, and take a few days to get better."

 

"You can't just deny me my health!" Mike choked out, spluttering into a coughing fit before continuing. "That's inhumane! I could die!"

 

"Oh _please_ ," Dr. Forrester groaned. "You won't die. You may throw up all over the ship, but you won't _die_. Besides, I know how determined you are to escape and frankly, I am not in the mood to honor your demands. For all I know, you could be faking it and are actually planning to use the medicine as a means for your escape!"

 

". . . How would I even do that?" Mike questioned.

 

"Joel could've found a way," Frank hissed under his breath. Dr. Forrester ignored him, favoring instead to raise up a hand to signal for silence.

 

"Face reality my dear. I am not giving you the slightest chance of escape if ever possible. Stay away from rotten eggs and I'm sure you'll get better." Dr. Forrester gave a final wave of his hand, making a break for the "end transmission" button.

 

" **WAIT!** " Mike yelled brokenly. The hand came to a halt, and suddenly four pairs of eyes were on him in an instant. Mike swallowed, mind racing as he attempted to find an alternate solution.

 

"I'm waiting." Dr. Forrester said in a sing-song voice, hand slowly creeping closer towards the button.

 

"What if . . . what if I came down to Deep 13 instead?" Mike said in a rush. "If I'm there, you can keep an eye on me 24/7. It'll be impossible for me to escape. And when I'm healed, you can send me back into space."

 

" **NO!** " Servo and Crow yelled in response. Mike shushed them, waiting apprehensively for Dr. Forrester's response. He and Frank seemed taken aback by Mike's offer, Dr. Forrester especially, face seemingly turning a dark shade of red. He cleared his throat, audible tapping of his foot heard over the audio. Letting out a sigh, he ground out an answer between his teeth.

 

". . . I'm sorry?"

 

"I said fine!" Dr. Forrester snarled. "I'll send a pod to you tomorrow. But understand this, Nelson. I'm only agreeing to it because you're insufferable and the only test subject we have. Plus I can keep an eye on you and run a few psychological tests to see how the movies have been affecting you. That's all."

 

"Thank you Sir!" Mike exclaimed, voice cracking at the last syllable. "It's all I ask."

 

Dr. Forrester rolled his eyes, Frank seemed content, and the bots that had once been joking at his sides now fell quiet. After an unceremonious goodbye, the transmission ended, and Mike could hardly believe that he would be getting help _and_ be getting off the **S.O.L.** as well.

 

"Well, I think that went pretty well, don't you think?" Mike managed to get out in between coughs. Servo and Crow merely looked at one another, eyes communicating an unheard message, before turning to stare down Mike. He felt his stomach drop at their hard expressions, slowly stiffening up as they approached him with an arduous pace before stopping at his feet. Mike at first thought they were going to attack him until Crow let out a wail.

 

" **MIIIIIIIIIIKE!** " The pair sobbed as they flung themselves forward and landed safely into the man's capable arms.

 

-

 

The following day was almost unreal to Mike as he packed underwear and some white t-shirts in an unused supplies bag. He was no less sick but had at least regained some of his motor controls back, hand-eye coordination and the ability to not trip over any darmned thing in his way. Zipping the bag shut, he threw it over a shoulder and exited his quarters, rubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up a bit more. He hadn't seen Crow or Tom Servo since the day previous, having to comfort them and sequentially avoid their wrath at Mike's departing. Making his way to the Docking Bay, Mike was beginning to think that the bots were intentionally avoiding him in hurt and anger. Pressing the button to the Docking Bay's entrance, Mike lost hope that his friends would wish him a bittersweet goodbye. It was understandable.

 

" _MIKE!_ " A shout from behind echoed in the large chamber as the man froze in his tracks. Spinning around, Mike felt his heart skip a beat as Servo, Crow, and Gypsy hurried towards him.

 

"That seems to be the only word you know how to say anymore," Mike joked, feeling a mixture of sorrow and joy as they ran into his embrace. Crow nestled into his armpit, Servo rubbed his gumball machine head into his gut, and Gypsy sobbed loudly next to his shoulder. Mike attempted to wrap his arms around them to the best of his ability before pulling back and settling his hands on Crow and Servo's shoulders.

 

"Promise you won't leave us forever?" Gypsy whispered.

 

"Promise."

 

"Promise that you won't try to escape down on Earth?" Crow and Servo sniffled.

 

"I promise guys. I would never leave any of you ever. You're the best friends a guy like me could ever ask for," Mike said with a smile. Leaning down, he planted a quick kiss on the three robot's heads in succession. Crow whined, Servo remained silent, and Gypsy let out another wail.

 

"While I'm gone, Gypsy is in charge. Nobody is allowed in my quarters, and nobody is allowed near the transmission room without a good excuse. Understand?"

 

"Yes," the bots echoed in unison.

 

"Alright, I'm off. Be good. Don't destroy the **S.O.L.** "

 

"Bye Mike . . ."

 

"Bye guys," Mike said with a wave of his hand. Setting his bag firmly against his side, he straightened his figure and stumbled towards the pod. The bots continued to whimper their goodbyes as Mike threw the bag next to the only seat, clicking himself in and slamming the pod's door shut. Adjusting himself into a comfortable position, Mike surveyed the circuit board of buttons and nozzles and switches before catching two labeled **start** and **eject**. He cautiously pressed the one labeled **start** first.

 

" _Welcome to the Gizmonic's Escape Pod. Please tell us your destination_ ," a womanly voice said with a pleasant tone.

 

"Uh . . . Earth. Deep 13, please," Mike stuttered, unsure if the A.I. would understand his answer.

 

" _Thank you, your destination has been set. Please wait the the anesthetic to take effect_."

 

"Anesthetic?" Mike questioned in a whisper before a puff of pink gas was released into the pod. Almost instantly, Mike's eyes shut and his mind clouded over. Body falling lax, his final thoughts circulated around how it was _so like_ Dr. Forrester to present two options for departure, somehow knowing that Mike would choose the one which would knock him out in the end.

 

-

 

**Day One**

 

"Wake up."

 

A subtle pat against a smooth cheek.

 

" _Wake up!_ "

 

This time, a slap with more force was applied to the cheek opposite. To no avail, the man remained lifeless, face relaxed and mouth falling slightly open. It was almost angelic, his blonde hair smoothing over his forehead.

 

It was also infuriating to Dr. Clayton Forrester, who had been attempting to wake the man for over an hour now.

 

The man, Mike Nelson, former temp of Gizmonic Institute and eternal thorn in Dr. Forrester's side, appeared dead as a doornail. Dr. Forrester was beginning to think he may have overdosed on the aesthetics supplied in the pod _just a tad_.

 

"Of course someone as stubborn as you would take twenty years to wake up," he hissed under his breath. Standing up from the sleeping man's side, he made his way across the laboratory to fiddle with another experiment while waiting for _Sleeping Beauty_ to wake up.

 

And in all honesty, Sleeping Beauty wasn't a terribly inaccurate name for the dope. Mad scientist or not, Dr. Forrester had eyes and, at times, was a normal human being with normal urges. It was no lie in saying that Nelson was an attractive man, all white smiles and golden hair and well-defined muscles.

 

Heat rose to his face as other bodily parts came to mind. Letting out a huff of laughter at himself and shaking his head, Dr. Forrester quickly dammed those thoughts from proceeding any further. Yes, Mike was attractive (and it wasn't the first time he had thought of the man in that way), but there was nothing there. It was just a physical attraction.

 

"What's so funny?" A voice croaked out begind him. Dr. Forrester jumped in shock, spinning around off-kilter and nearly colliding into a test tube stand.

 

"I thought you were asleep!" He snarled in embarrassment, taking in the man as he slowly rose and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Rubbing the dark red marks on his cheeks, Mike glanced up at the scientist with annoyance brimming in his eyes.

 

"I was."

 

"Obviously. You hibernate rather than sleep. It's been an hour since you arrived at Deep 13."

 

"About that," Mike said as he dropped his hands down to his lap. "I thought that when I was going to come back to Gizmonic Institute I wasn't going to be living with you in your lab."

 

"Oh? And _where_ did you think you were going to be staying, _hmm?_ " Dr. Forrester mocked, hands planted firmly on his hips.

 

"A hotel?"

 

"A hotel."

 

"Yeah, a hotel, or y'know, someplace nicer than this," Mike said groggily, stretching his hands up over his head. Dr. Forrester scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

"My laboratory is very nice and well-kept, _thank you very much_."

 

"I can tell by the moss stains in the corner. Isn't this place, like, radioactive or something?"

 

"Barely. Hardly. Somewhat. It doesn't matter! Now that you're here, you are going to do what I say when I say it and not be an annoying little pest like those robots encourage you to be," Dr. Forrester said in a rush. Mike blinked lazily at him, once, twice, before nodding. He stood, arching his back and rolling his head around to crack the vertebrae.

 

"Alright. Can I have my medicine now?"

 

". . . That's it? You're . . . just going to comply without a fight?"

 

"Do you want me to fight with you?" Mike said in confusion. Dr. Forrester, at a lost for words, shook his head "no" with a sheepish expression.

 

"Alright then. So . . ."

 

"So."

 

"Medicine?"

 

"Right." And with that, Dr. Forrester quickly left the main room of the laboratory, face flushed in embarrassment at the exchange, leaving Mike bewildered and alone for the time being.

 

-

 

**Day Two**

 

The first day of Mike's return to Earth had been somewhat . . . anticlimactic. After the awkward first encounter in the lab, Dr. Forrester seemed to have collected his bearings and returned with pills and other medical supplies. He rattled off all the rules Mike would be following while he lived in the lab (excruciatingly specific, like _no touching the third test tube from the left after 11:00 a.m.,_ stuff like that). He questioned Mike about how he was feeling psychologically, wrote a few sentences down in a small notepad, and disappeared off to (most likely) cause trouble and destruction somewhere else. Mike had fallen asleep, so exhausted and depleted of energy that he continued to sleep the rest of the day and into the next. Which was where he found himself now, sitting slumped over on the small wire-frame bed, surveying the room.

 

It was actually somewhat cozy, in a quirky sort of way. There was no mistaking that it had been lived-in for some time, stray lab-coats and empty cans of mysterious drinks and food crumbs littering the tables. It was shocking to Mike, seeing the little details of the lab that he thought he knew everything about. Even when he had been working at Gizmonic Institute before he was sent into space, he hadn't noticed much of anything at the time. It felt so long ago.

 

Off to his right, from the corner his bed had been placed in, lay a door with a sign tacked onto it, **STAY OUT! (that means you Frank!)** written in bold, red letters. There's was no doubt in Mike's mind that it was Dr. Forrester's bedroom. The thought that the scientist actually slept, every night, on a bed, was unnerving. Shivering, he broke eye contact with the door, opting instead to stand to his feet and look around. The medicine seemed to be working alright, he hadn't puked since yesterday, and he felt his head getting clearer every few hours. On the table closest to him, a box of doughnuts and a hastily scrawled note awaited him. He picked up a glazed pastry, snatching the note and reading it as he nibbled slowly on the treat.

 

_Nelson -_

_Hopefully you have found time in your busy schedule to wake up and eat something. If this is true, you should be reading this now and should have realized that the doughnuts are for you. I know that you seem to be fond of them - they are the quickest depleted food supply that I send every month. If you manage to scarf down the whole box and dirty yourself in the process, the bathroom is the second door on the left, obviously not the door with the sign on it so don't be getting smart and go poking around where you don't belong. I will be back this evening to administer your medication. There are books behind the lab table with the bunsen burner on top. Don't touch anything else._

_\- Dr. F._

 

It was almost surreal, the amount of detail that Dr. Forrester seemed to have noticed about him. Mike was always somewhat self-conscious about his secret doughnut addiction, and now the only person who knew was the last person Mike would have wanted to tell. Eating two more of the baked delights, Mike snatched his clothes bag and went to take a quick shower. Surprisingly, the bathroom showed nowhere near as much compassion the lab had faced. The only thing other than Mike's own belongings that was present was a green robe, the same that Dr. Forrester had worn right before Mike was knocked out and sent into space. It made him uncomfortable, and Mike quickly paid no attention to it as he slipped into the shower and cleaned himself up.

 

Afterwards, when he was fresh and dressed, Mike returned to his rickety bed with a few selections from Dr. Forrester's book collection. As expected, there were several books on chemistry and psychology and physics and all the sciences imaginable, but surprisingly Mike found a copy of _Moby Dick_ and _Julius_ _Caeser._ He wouldn't have taken the man to be a fan of the classics. After flipping to the first page of the Shakesperian play, Mike went to work on attempting to read it.

 

He utterly failed.

 

Either it was Mike's sickness or the annoyingly persistent door that burned into his periphery that obstructed him from paying attention to the words on the page. He shifted, first laying on his back, then his side, then a million other positions in an attempt to make himself comfortable. To no avail, he couldn't get past " _Hence! Home, you idle creatures get you home_." Slamming the book shut in frustration, Mike laid out on his stomach, pondering what time of the day it was as he stared at the door. It must have been sometime in the afternoon was his best guess. He twiddled his thumbs in front of him, bidding his curiosity to go away. Mike wondered when the scientist would return to the lab. Could be minutes. Could be hours. Could be never.

 

It took him three seconds and eight paces to arrive in front of Dr. Forrester's room entrance, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it quickly with great force before pushing the door open. He entered, slamming the door shut and leaning against it in horror. No going back now. If Dr. Forrester discovered what he has done, Mike would surely be dead in an instant.

 

He searched for the light switch with his right hand in the dark, grasping at nothing until he felt a bump. Flicking it upward, the room became bathed in blinding white light, and Mike shut his already sensitive eyes at their harshness. Waiting for them to adjust to the room, he slowly cracked them open and nearly fainted at the sight that befell him.

 

A normal room, complete with bookshelves and a desk and a bed. A bed with an army green striped comforter, and an assortment of taupe pillows. Slowly, Mike dragged his eyes away from the neat bed to the nightstand beside it. An alarm clock, a lamp, and a picture of a smiling woman with glasses were the only objects present. The walls were bare, save for framed documents and certifications. A desk sat to the right of the bed, a single wooden chair tucked into it and papers littering the top. To the left of the bed lay a dresser and a closet, which was cracked open minimally. A box sat at the foot of the bed, labeled _music_. It was an irrevocably normal room. It was going to give Mike a heart attack. He somehow imagined that Dr. Forrester's quarters would be made entirely out of chrome, and feature all sorts of pointy objects and dangerous things.

 

Willing his legs to move, Mike's eyes fell once again on the box near the bed. It was nothing special, cardboard sealed with tape that had been cut into. It wasn't closed entirely, and it only took slight pressure from his hand to pop the thing open. Dust flew up into Mike's face, and he nearly hacked up a lung as he breathed in a good portion of it in. Waving a hand, Mike peered down into the box to survey it's contents.

 

Records were stacked together, so compact that if Mike had flipped the box over nothing inside would budge. Digging his fingers in, Mike pulled out as many as he could manage, Sitting on the floor as he read the covers. Elton John, Simon and Garfunkle, ABBA, and other 70s hits seemed to be the majority of what was present. Flipping through the stack, trying to look for something good, Mike stopped as he came across an Earth Wind and Fire record. And it had most of his favorites on it too.

 

Standing to his feet once more, Mike looked around the room in search of a record player. Surely if Dr. Forrester had a bunch of old 20th century records in his possession, he should have had something to play them with. His eyes locked onto the crack of the closet door. Setting the record down gently on the bed, he quickly made his way to the closet and slid the door open. He was greeted with several lime green lab-coats, some sweaters, some shoes, but no record player. Mike snorted in frustration.

 

" _Et tu, Brute?_ " A voice sounded behind him before something hit Mike directly on the back of the head. He stumbled forward, reaching up to caress the tender spot, before seeing what had landed at his feet. A copy of _Julius Caeser_. _His_ copy of _Julius Caeser_. Mike slowly turned around, knowing exactly who had thrown the book at him with surprising precision. Dr. Forrester stood with his arms stiff at the sides, face flushed in anger and glasses perched somewhat askew on the bridge of his nose.

 

"Get out," he articulated between clenched teeth. Mike, frozen in place for fear of being pelted with another book, merely stared at the quietly fuming man. His mind raced, thinking of some excuse that would justify his presence in the other man's bedroom.

 

"You got a record player?" He blurted out, pointing to the records that now lay scattered across the floor. Dr. Forrester, eyes still narrowed into slits, finally broke contact with Mike and fell upon the assortment of 70s music. Tensed muscles relaxing a little, the scientist let out a long, arduous sigh. Massaging the bridge of his nose with his left hand, he took a few steps forward, crouching down to the floor and collecting the records in his arms.

 

"Yeah," he said, voice lacking energy, "It's in the lab somewhere." Rising to his feet, he began placing the records back into the box with care. Mike's legs seemed to finally catch up with his head, and he quickly snatched the album he selected from the bed and made a break for the laboratory, making sure to stay as far away from Dr. Forrester as possible as he left the room. Quickly making his way to his own bed, Mike sat down and crossed his legs, waiting patiently for the other man to exit the bedroom. Mike had no idea what would happen when he returned. Punishment seemed the obvious choice, mutilation, amputation, some type of experiment testing that would most likely kill him. He felt his heart pound and sweat begin to collect between his shoulder blades, bump on the back of his head throbbing in tune with his heart. Mike and his stupid curiosity. Moments later, Dr. Forrester exited the room, but seemed phenomenally more relaxed than previously, holding a record of his own choice in his hands. He stared down Mike as he set the record down on one of the lab tables. He laughed nervously in response.

 

"I knew you were going to try snooping around in there eventually," he said simply. "However, I was hoping you would have the decency to wait until the perfect moment, when you could have at least covered your tracks a bit better."

 

"There's no clock in here, and it's incredibly boring! And besides . . . if you knew I was going to be curious about it in the first place, why even bother?"

 

"It's my bedroom! It's private!" He snapped.

 

"I have to sleep on a bed in the middle of your laboratory, which is much less private than my situation on the **S.O.L.** "

 

"Too bad. I don't care. Stay out," Dr. Forrester grumbled, making his way towards a stack of boxes that were near the wall opposite to Mike's bed. Grabbing the largest one, he hefted it towards the lab table where he had placed his record and set it down with a grunt. Curious, Mike rose from his seat, and stared in awe as the other man lifted a record player from the box. It was gorgeous, wooden and gold and almost in perfect condition, save for a few scratches. It was centuries old.

 

"Where did you get it?" Mike said excitedly as he leaned over Dr. Forrester's shoulder to get a better view. He stiffened, scooting away from the taller man's frame and crossing his arms in annoyance.

 

"My mother gave it to me," he replied, reaching for the record he selected from his collection. Mike attempted to move closer and read what was printed on the cover but Dr. Forrester gave him a light shove to his abdomen with an elbow.

 

"Go sit! I can't stand you breathing down my neck!" He complained, and Mike could barely contain a snort of laughter as he made his way to his bed and sat down, feet tapping the floor absentmindedly. He heard the sound of the record scratching as the needle settled against it, before the first few notes of music began to spring out of the wooden box. Mike smiled, it was a song he knew.

 

"Fleetwood Mac? _Go your own way?_ " He joked, watching as Dr. Forrester persistently avoided eye contact, opting instead to lean his back against the lab table.

 

"It was a favorite of mine as a child, that's all."

 

"Right. It's actually one of my favorite too."

 

". . . Really?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Oh." And just like that, the room fell silent again, Lindsey Buckingham's voice echoing throughout the room. Mike let out a sigh of content, leaning back on the bed, closing his eyes, allowing the music to wash over him and carry him to somewhere that wasn't a dingy little basement. A single cough drew him out of his trance. Cracking an eye open and glaring at the source, Mike saw Dr. Forrester shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the room. Mike drew himself up, scratching the back of his head and observing the man.

 

"Something wrong?" He said with genuine concern. Dr. Forrester waved a hand in reply, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

 

"Just peachy. But we need to eat and you need to take your medicine." Mike nodded, having felt hardly any stomach pain since earlier in the day. Dr. Forrester exited the main lab and returned minutes later with a bag in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. He threw the pills toward Mike, who caught them and measured out two tablets. Snapping the lid over the tube, he set the rest of the pills on his pillow with a gentle hand. Looking up, he watched Dr. Forrester pull out two boxes of what looked like Chinese food. Mike's mouth watered, be couldn't even remember the last time he had fast food Chinese. Standing to his feet, he marched over to the other man and took his meal with a smile and a quiet "thank you." If Mike believed himself, he could have sworn that Dr. Forrester blushed at his words. Settling back down on the bed, Mike swallowed his pills with ease and dug into his moo goo ghi pan.

 

"So," he started after inhaling a few pieces of chicken. "Where's Frank? I haven't seen him at all since I've been down here." Dr. Forrester seemed to grow more tense at the question.

 

"He's running errands for me this week, getting supplies that are not available on most markets and the like. He will be back the day after tomorrow, when you leave."

 

“Oh. Do you miss him?" Mike questioned earnestly. Dr. Forrester looked at Mike square in the eye, face etched in annoyance.

 

"Of course I don't. I've killed him more times than I can count."

 

"Right," Mike said, trailing off. Surely Dr. Forrester had to care about someone. "Do you hang out with anyone else on Earth besides Frank? You got a girlfriend?"

 

Dr. Forrester audibly choked on a piece of steamed broccoli at the question. Thumping a fist against his sternum a couple times to will the food down, he shook his head furiously.

 

" _No_ , I do _not_. And I don't see why it's any of your business as to who I am acquaintances with. Your obsession with my personal life is unnerving." Mike scoffed at him, affronted at his implications.

 

"I'm not _obsessed_ with your personal life, I just find it important to know a little bit about the man who took me prisoner and sent me to live up in space, alone!"

 

"You're not alone. Those robots that your predecessor Joel constructed seem to keep you company enough."

 

"You have got to be kidding me," Mike groaned, setting his empty take-out box on the floor next to his bed before stretching out along it. "You know, you can show a little compassion every once in a while. You don't need to be so evil all the time."

 

"I'm not," Dr. Forrester replied, "understand this, Mike. I am a scientist first and foremost. Taking over the world in my number one priority."

 

"Alright then, _Clayton_ , I understand." Mike smiled as he heard Dr. Forrester spluttering, before feeling a carton of empty Chinese food hit him in the leg. The rest of the night was spent in amicable silence, only the subtle music from the record player disturbing it. Mike fell asleep to the sounds of Stevie Nicks' tambourine and the scratching of Dr. Forrester's pen across a sheet of paper, a small smile etched across his face.

 

-

**Day Three**

 

It was pretty early the next morning when Mike woke up. Twisting away from the wall he took in the sight of the lab, dark, save for a few small lights on here and there. He sat up, blanket falling off his shoulder and pooling around his waist. He was still dressed in his jumpsuit from yesterday as well as his sneakers. He was uncomfortably warm, sweat soaking through the jumpsuit under his arms and across his chest and back. Luckily, he packed another one just in case, even though it was his less favorable blue one. Stretching his limbs, Mike continued to sit in his place and stare at the obscure shapes of the lab. His thoughts fell back to the night previous, eating Chinese food and listening to old music with Dr. Forrester had been . . . pleasant. Enjoyable even. It had been a while since he could remember just hanging out with another human, even if that person was a little crazy and had cut him off from Earth and all it's inhabitants.

 

Now that he thought of it, Mike's whole outlook on the other man was rapidly beginning to change. Yes, he was still somewhat of an asshole who only looked to his own needs and wants first, but he also liked 70s music. He gave Mike food that just so happened to be his favorites. He got uncomfortable when Mike looked at him too long and had a picture of his mother on his nightstand. Dr. Forrester was not the nicest or the most likeable men he ever met, but Mike understood that when it came down to it, he was just lonely. And had no boundaries. Taking people captive and stranding them in space had been a big no-no. Killing Frank multiple times as well was also not the greatest thing he had ever done either.

 

For some odd reason, now that Mike's mind settled it's thoughts on Dr. Forrester, things began to get weird. It was early morning, and typically once every week Mike would get . . . urges. Laying back down onto the bed after kicking off his shoes, Mike willed himself to get more sleep and not think about sex or Dr. Forrester, especially not the two of them combined. Tossing over and facing the wall, he shut his eyes and wrapped the blanket around his frame. The steady throbbing that had begun to grow in his pants stayed resilient however, and the urge to touch himself was beginning to wear down his resistance.

 

It just so happened that at that moment the door to Dr. Forrester's room opened and the man himself stepped out. Mike froze, feigning sleep as he heard the slow, drowsy footsteps reach the bathroom before entering. Letting out a sigh of relief a few moments later, Mike buried his face into his pillow. He could wait until he arrived back on the **S.O.L.** to take care of his business. He was incredibly tired still, and even though he was half hard and desperately horny, he willed himself to continue keeping his eyes closed, listening to the barely audible pounding of shower water against the tub.

 

-

 

It felt like only a few minutes had passed before Mike opened his eyes and was met with a much brighter light than before. He hissed, swinging an arm across his face before throwing the blanket over his head.

 

"Get up, Mike. It's nearly afternoon," the disembodied voice of Dr. Forrester rang out. Mike groaned in protest before shifting towards the voice. He peeked just his eyes over the top of the blanket and met him with a weak glare and narrowed eyes. Dr. Forrester was sitting at one of the lab tables, notes splayed out around him. Mike scooted back under the covers, opting instead to sleep for just a little while longer.

 

"Mike. Get up. You are going to waste the day away if you keep sleeping."

 

"Ten more minutes."

 

"If you aren't up and out of that bed in ten _seconds_ I will not hesitate to send you back on the S.O.L. as soon as possible," Dr. Forrester said, voice deathly clear. Mike let out another whine, high pitched and tinny, before rolling out over once more - and straight on to the floor. He crashed down to the thick concrete and smacked his jaw and temple, still wrapped up in the blankets in burrito-like fashion. Mike was almost positive he heard Dr. Forrester snickering, the bastard.

 

"Having a nice trip?" He questioned, smug and full of superiority. Mike lifted his head from beneath the blanket's folds.

 

"Yeah actually. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take a shower." He attempted to stand up, tripping slightly over the blanket before untangling himself and throwing it onto the bed. As he walked towards the bathroom, he paused with a hand on the doorknob as a thought sprang up suddenly.

 

"Something wrong?" Dr. Forrester murmured into his cup of coffee. Mike slowly turned to face the scientist, nodding as he went.

 

"Why are you working here in the lab? I mean, those stools don't look very comfortable whatsoever. Besides . . . don't you have a desk in your room that works? It just seems kind of redundant to sit and work in a place so ill suiting that doesn't have the best lighting either . . ." Mike trailed off. He blushed, realizing that it really wasn't any of his business as to why or when Dr. Forrester occupied his own lab. The man was still seated, cup of coffee in his hand and eyes firmly glued to the other side of the room. He shrugged, Setting his coffee cup down to the table and waving his hand.

 

"It's not important. Go shower." Mike, not wanting to get the man any angrier than necessary, merely gave a quick mod and ducked into the bathroom. It probably wasn't that important of a reason anyway.

 

-

 

Once Dr. Forrester heard the spray of the shower being turned on, he went lax in relief. He had narrowly dodged a bullet with Mike's questioning. Thankfully, he was either too tired or didn't care enough to press for an answer. Truth be told the only reason as to why Dr. Forrester had decided to work in the laboratory rather than in his own quarters was **because of Mike**. The man was really quite the sight when he slept. He always seemed so peaceful and content with the world when he was curled up amongst the blankets. It calmed Dr. Forrester, to see him so still, always with a smile on his face as if he were dreaming of something too wonderful to understand in waking consciousness. His heart would skip a beat every time Mike would scoot or squirm or flop over onto his other side, blonde hair sticking out in all directions and mouth falling slightly open. To be perfectly honest Dr. Forrester hadn't gotten any work done at all in the laboratory earlier because he had been so busy admiring the other man.

 

It angered him, realizing how much he truly cared about Mike. He tried not to show it but the gifts of food that he showered on the other man and the record player hadn't exactly disproved the suspicions that Mike most likely had at this point. There was only one day left until his departure, and Dr. Forrester was both anxiously awaiting it as well as simultaneously dreading it. He had actually had fun while Mike was back at Deep 13. It would be strange, sending him back to the **S.O.L.** and returning to their normal routines. Dr. Forrester heard the sound of the shower-head being turned off and quickly shook himself mentally. If he could keep his cool, continue to berate the man and not stare at him every time he stood in Dr. Forrester's way, he would be fine. He could keep his little crush on Mike a secret for the rest of eternity and die peacefully after enslaving the human race, and he would.

 

-

 

After returning to the main lab after a refreshing shower, Mike felt the atmosphere of the entire room change. Either Dr. Forrester was not in the mood for entertaining Mike or had run into a problem with his plan for world domination. Sitting back on his bed with an awkward aura about him, Mike searched for something to say that would lesson the tension between the two.

 

"So," he began, "you aren't doing anything outside the lab today?"

 

"No, not today. I have reserved today to deal with the foundations and paperwork for one of my bigger experiments," Dr. Forrester replied, quickly glancing up at Mike before looking back down at his stack of papers. Mike felt his heart begin to beat faster. A day, alone, with Dr. Forrester. It was almost like something out of a sick comedy. He nodded, letting out a quiet oh of understanding before tapping his fingers against his knees.

 

"Would you mind if I listened to some music? Or would that - like - distract you or something?"

 

". . . No. That's fine. Just - keep the volume at it's minimal level."

 

"Alright." Mike stood, shuffling his way towards the record player with his hands in his pockets. Upon closer inspection, Mike saw the box of records hidden behind it. He smiled, giving a sidelong glance at Dr. Forrester. The scientist was terrible at acting like he didn't care for Mike's presence. He dug through the moth eaten box as quietly as he could, immediately skipping over the Bee Gees and searching for something more his style. He plucked out an album titled Greatest 70s Hits. Flipping it to the back, he surveyed the track listings and smiled. Several good songs were on the record. Sliding it out of it's case, Mike set the album into the player and dropped the needle down gently, returning to his seat on the bed. Listening to Al Green belt out a soulful tune was a good way to relax. Of course, _Let's Stay Together_ was a little more . . . romantic than Mike was aiming for.

 

Suddenly, Dr. Forrester jumped from his seat and adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

 

"I have to go. I'll - I'll be back in a little while," he choked out, exiting the lab before Mike could even comprehend what had just occurred. Shaking his head in confusion, Mike merely leaned back against the wall with his feet crossed in front of him on the bed. Dr. Forrester was a lot jumpier than he remembered. The song began to drift off as it ended, and Mike took the album cover in his hands to look at the next song. Scrolling down to the next number, he felt his face break out in a grin as he identified the following song. It was definitely one of his favorites - KC and the Sunshine Band. _That's The Way (I Like It)_ was certainly a corny song but it always made Mike want to dance. He was tempted as the song began to start up, funky tempo and vocals traveling across the room. Mike glanced at the door which Dr. Forrester had escaped through. He had said he would be gone for a little while. Mike smiled, jumping to his feet and making his way to the record player. He turned the volume up to a level that was above normal volume but just below an uncomfortable level. Bobbing his body in place, he began to sway his hips in tune with the beat. Spinning around, Mike danced his way towards the middle of the room, popping a few disco points up at the ceiling. He was no Travolta, but Mike could make do with his lanky movements. Before he knew it, his whole body was swaying and bobbing to the beat, arms circling above his head. His head shook back and forth, and Mike smiled as he thought about what Crow and Servo would say if they saw him. Laughing, Mike swung around, kicking a foot out - before nearly falling over his feet as he was greeted by Dr. Forrester, holding a brown bag in his arms, face mixed with both horror and shock. His upper lip was drawn up, giving his mustache an irregular slant to it. Mike felt his entire face erupt in flames.

 

"Oh . . . hi," he managed to choke out, arms straight at his sides and feet still bent in an awkward position.

 

". . . Hello Mike. Having . . . fun?" Dr. Forrester questioned, setting the bag on the table in from of him. Mike nodded stiffly, standing up to his full height and rubbing the back of his neck. He was vaguely aware of the song changing, a more mellow tune transitioning the previous upbeat tempo. Mike recognized the first few notes of the song, it was Elvin something-or-other that was singing it. Mike dropped his hand back to his side, sparing a glance back up at Dr. Forrester who was staring at the floor. Mike suddenly felt a rush of courage run through him.

 

"Do you dance?" He asked, taking a few steps closer to the man. Dr. Forrester's head flew up to meet Mike's questioning gaze.

 

"What?" He managed to yelp out. Mike, whose cheeks were still burning, smiled at his sheepishness.

 

"I said, do you dance? This is a good song, but . . . I can't dance to it by myself, that'd be no fun." Dr. Forrester's blush, already prominently covering a good portion of his face, seemed to spread up to his (somewhat receding) hairline.

 

" ** _What?!_** " He spluttered again, body backing slowly away as Mike drew closer. He rolled his eyes, extending a welcoming hand towards the other man.

 

"C'mon. It's a slow song, so you don't really have to do much."

 

". . . Are you joking?" Dr. Forrester asked cautiously.

 

"Nope," Mike said as he shook his head, making a grab for the other man's arm and dragging him to the center of the room. Dr. Forrester protested weakly, but did nothing to pry Mike's hand away. When they arrived, Mike faced the older man and gave a reassuring smile. Dr. Forrester seemed determined to not meet his eyes.

 

"It's easy. You put your hands on my waist, and I put mine on your shoulders. It'll feel just like your high school prom again." Dr. Forrester looked like he was about to protest before Mike wrapped his hands behind his neck and pulled him forward, the words dying in his throat. Slowly, he placed his hands on Mike's hips, barely brushing the material, shifting uncomfortably.

 

". . . Now what do we do?" Dr. Forrester breathed out, voice barely audible.

 

"Now we sway," Mike said with an even bigger smile. He gently pulled his partner in the same direction his feet went. Before Mike knew it, the two of them where moving to the beat of the music, even though the other man was still somewhat stiff.

 

"You're doing good Dr. Forrester!" Mike praised.

 

"If we are going to be doing something this personal, I would prefer it if you called me Clayton."

 

"Alright then, _Clayton_. You're doing great, but loosen up a bit. You're gonna pop that vein in your head if you don't." Dr. Forrester - Clayton - nodded. They continued their slow swaying, moving in circular patterns as the music washed over them. It was incredibly comfortable. Mike rubbed one of his thumbs against the back of Clayton's neck. He felt him shiver in response.

 

_Free, on my own is the way I used to be_  
_Ah, but since I met you baby, love's got a hold on me_  
_It's got a hold on me now_  
_I can't let go of you baby_

 

Mike shifted closer to Clayton as the music continued, blushing before settling his head against the other man's surprisingly warm chest. He let out a sigh as Clayton settled his chin over Mike's shoulder, next to his neck.

 

_I fooled around and fell in love_  
_I fooled around and fell in love, oh yes I did_  
_I fooled around, fooled around, fooled around, fooled around,_  
_Fooled around, fooled around, fell in love_

 

As the song drew to a close, Mike felt himself drifting off with it. He pressed his nose gently against the other man's shoulder. Willing the song to not draw to a close, Mike wasn't prepared for this moment to end. He felt Clayton's hands tighten ever so slightly at his waist. Mike pulled his head back, looking at the older man's face with a slight grin. He looked exponentially more relaxed than he had been a few minutes ago, wearing an equally dopey grin as Mike. He felt his heart begin to beat faster as a thought raced through his mind. He knew if before he even committed the action. He was going to kiss Clayton Forrester on the mouth.

 

Leaning forward, time seemed to freeze as Mike closed his eyes before impact. When he connected, Mike felt his face re-erupt in a furious blush, pressing gently against the other man's lips. He felt Clayton stiffen at the unexpected action, before he pulled Mike closer to him by the hips and deepened the kiss. As expected, his mustache was somewhat scratchy but all in all it felt pretty good. Mike groaned deep, sliding his lips slowly over the older man's as his hands slid up and down his neck. Clayton seemed to like that because it wasn't a moment later that he took Mike's bottom lip into his mouth. Mike hissed, pressing as close as he possibly could into the other man as a jolt of pleasure went straight to his cock.

 

Before Mike could even process what was happening entirely he was backed up against one of the lab tables. The edge of it pressed into his lower back, but Mike didn't seemed to care as he and Clayton continued to kiss. Now tongues became involved, Mike licking into against the other man's lips as if to ask for permission. The older man growled in response, pressing Mike further back against the table and deepening the kiss. He whined, shifting his hips ever so slightly before he felt his burgeoning erection make contact with Clayton's hip. Arching into his mouth, Mike groaned and attempted grind against him again before Clayton pulled back.

 

"Mike stop, stop just for a second," he gasped, pressing a hand to Mike's chest when he attempted to reconnect their lips. "Are - are you sure you want to . . . do this? With me?" Mike rolled his eyes once again and shifted his hips so his hard-on was pressed firmly into the scientist's side.

 

"Do I look or feel unsure?" He questioned with impatience. Clayton groaned at the contact, but attempted to break away from Mike once more.

 

“It's just that, you know, I thought -"

 

"It doesn't matter now, what you thought. We can talk about the details later, but for now, I'm really horny and you're really horny and I really want to get back to kissing, alright?"

 

". . . Alright. But we are continuing this in the bedroom," Clayton said as a final statement. Mike sighed in relief, snatching the older man's hand and making a break for the door with the prominent **STAY OUT!** printed on the front. He wrestled with the doorknob before pushing the door open, pulling Clayton inside, and slamming the door shut. The room was illuminated by the single lamp on his nightstand. Mike turned to face Clayton, smiling as the other man stood with a blush on his face and a tent in his pants.

 

"Are you going to undress me now?" Mike questioned. Clayton raked his gaze up and down the younger man's body before nodding.

 

"Yeah, I think I will," he murmured before kissing Mike again with fervor. He sighed in content as he felt Clayton tug his jumpsuit zipper and shove the suit open and down. Mike shook his arms out of the sleeves, trying his best to both keep his balance and continue kissing his partner as he shimmied out of the pants. Standing in his grey boxers and white t-shirt, Mike pulled impatiently at Clayton's lab-coat.

 

"Take your clothes off," he growled into the kiss. The older man smiled against his lips at Mike's whining until he shucked off his labcoat and began to unbutton his green dress shirt. Slipping his tie off and dropping the dress shirt, Clayton began to make a move for his trousers until Mike knocked his hands out of the way. He unclasped the front and pulled the zipper down, pressing a firm palm against his erection. Clayton gasped, trying not to push back against the warm hand.

 

"Bed," Clayton ground out, pushing the younger man onto the soft covers and falling down with him. He adjusted himself until he was sitting at the head of the bed, Mike quickly moving himself so he was straddling his lap. Both of them only wore their boxers and plain white shirts. They were at the cliff now, ready to jump off and plunge into the deep any second. Clayton grasped Mike's hand as softly as he could, brushing his thumb over the back.

 

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" He questioned, meeting Mike's cornflower blue eyes. The younger man smiled at his courtesy, leaning forward and pecking him lightly on the lips.

 

"I'm positive. You got any lube though? I would hate for us to be raw in the morning." Clayton nodded, blushing as he pointed to the top drawer of the nightstand. Mike shifted so he could dig a hand inside and pull out a small vial of the clear liquid. "Glad I didn't find this the yesterday?" He joked. Clayton groaned, pulling Mike forward by the back of his neck and shutting him up with a deep kiss. Mike moaned into his mouth, shifting so his cock was grinding down against Clayton's. He felt the other man harden in response, hands circling around Mike's waist and pulling him against his lap once more.

 

Mike's hand found their way to the bottom of Clayton's shirt and he tugged it up and over his head, breaking apart to do so. Before Mike could reconnect with the other man's lips his own shirt was plucked from his body and joined Clayton's somewhere on the bedroom floor. As Mike arched his hips back down against his partner's he gasped, fully erect now, pre-come staining the front of his boxers. Clayton moaned, pressing his lips against the side of Mike's neck as Mike desperately humped against him. His hands snapped down to his boxers and Clayton tugged them down, Mike shifting from leg to leg and crying in relief as his cock was freed. His boxers were thrown off to the side. Mike thought he was going to faint when Clayton wrapped a calloused hand around his cock, giving it a few steady pumps before reaching for the lube and applying a generous amount to his hand. He sucked lazily on the flesh beneath Mike's ear.

 

" _Fuck_ ," Mike whined as he finally took his cock back in hand, slathering it up and stroking from base to tip. He felt Clayton stiffen even harder against the inside of his thigh at Mike's use of profanity. "If you don't stop soon I'm going to come all over you and leave you hard and hanging." Clayton hummed in agreement, pulling away from his neck and peppering kisses across his jaw and cheek.

 

"I agree," he whispered, ceasing his hand from stroking. Mike thought he was going to cry at the loss of movement. In frustration for more contact with and from the other man, Mike pulled down Clayton's boxers and pressed himself forward so their cocks touched. Clayton let out a moan so loud that he drew a hand over his mouth to silence it. Applying more lube to his hand, he took both his and Mike's cock in hand, lining them up so they pressed firmly against each other. Mike cried at the feeling of the older man against him, grinding and rocking his hips forward in search of friction. Clayton began to move his hand against their cocks, stroking firmly from their bases to their tips.

 

"Oh fuck, fuck, please, don't - don't stop," Mike whined, his rocking beginning to increase in pace. Clayton hissed at his words, leaning back in to bite at his jawline and suck Mike's earlobe. His whining grew louder and he grinded down hard in response. Mike was going to come any minute, and judging by Clayton's erratic jerking and stuttering hips, he wasn't far behind. Mike wrapped his arms around his neck, panting and humping as his cock began to leak more pre-come, his cock sliding so perfectly against Clayton's with the help of the lube and the come. He felt himself seizing up, and gasped as Clayton somehow increased his rhythm.

 

" _I'm gonna_ \- "

 

" - _I know_ , me too - you're _so gorgeous_ and you feel _so good_ and - " Neither of them were able to finish their sentences before Mike cried out, hips stuttering to a halt as he came harder than he ever had in his life. His whole body shuddered, pushing out streaks of white against Clayton's chest as he tightened his arms around his neck. He heard the older man gasp at the feeling and the sight, the sensory overload, before he too followed. Mike could feel his come hit his abdomen, shivering and pinching his eyes shut as they finished together. Both gasping and panting as if they had run a marathon, Mike nuzzled the side of the other man's face, trying to regain his thoughts as they still held each other tight in their embrace. Clayton pulled back first, glasses somewhat fogged over and askew. Mike let out a tiny laugh at the sight, pulling the glasses of his face and setting them on the nightstand.

 

"Wanna sleep?" He whispered, letting out a deep sigh as he nestled back against the older man's body.

 

"Well yes, but we're filthy."

 

"I'm too tired to go shower," Mike sighed, Clayton merely smiled at the other man's tone. He pushed Mike gently off his lap before grabbing his boxers that were hanging half off the bed.

 

"Wipe yourself off with these if you're too lazy," he replied. Mike shrugged in agreement, grabbing his own pair of underwear and quickly balling it up and swiping it across their chests before settling down near Clayton's side. They quickly shifted and pulled the comforter out from underneath them before huddling beneath it, the cold hair tickling their now overheated bodies. Mike curled up with one hand thrown over Clayton's stomach, and Clayton laid on his back with an arm curled around Mike's frame. His other hand came up and joined Mike's, clasping it with a loose grip. Mike couldn't keep a silly smile of his face as he rubbed his cheek against Clayton's shoulder, the faint sound of the record player still crooning out lyrics as the older man slowly brushed his hand up and down Mike's back. They fell into comfortable silence, Clayton's deep breathing and the faint click of the bedside lamp as it was turned off the only source of noise in the room. Relishing the heat and warmth of his partner's body, Mike drifted off to sleep, Barry White serenading him as he embraced the comfort of unconsciousness.

 

-

 

**Day Four - Departure**

 

The next morning was not nearly as enjoyable as the night previous. Mike almost went into cardiac arrest when he woke up in Dr. Forrester's - Clayton's bed. Remembering what had transpired between them, Mike relaxed once more. Somehow throughout the evening, Mike and Clayton had changed positions. He was currently curled up with his face pressed into Clayton's chest, the older man wrapped around him with surprising strength. Mike kissed along his neck and collarbone, smiling as he heard Clayton grunt at the ministrations. Attempting to untangle himself from the other man's surprising grip, Mike pushed his hands firmly against Clayton's chest.

 

"Hey, wake up, you're crushing me to death old man," he choked out. Shying away from Mike's hands, Clayton pulled his arms and legs away from the younger man and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling in confusion.

 

"So it wasn't a dream," he whispered, snatching his glasses from the nightstand and sliding them over the bridge of his nose. Mike smiled, pushing forward and kissing Clayton lightly over his right cheek.

 

"Nope, it wasn't a dream. I'm real - and ready for a shower in all honesty." Clayton nodded in agreement, eyes scanning over Mike's face and cheeks flushed at the kiss. He wrapped his arm around Mike's back and planted a kiss of his own on Mike's temple. He let out a sigh, eyes staring down the door in front of him.

 

"A shower would be a good idea," he whispered. Mike smiled, allowing himself to be pressed against Clayton's side. After a few moments he pulled back, face splitting into an enormous grin.

 

" _Race you!_ " He quickly shot out, rolling out of the bed and making a break for the door, still completely naked. Clayton stiffened, shouting at Mike to be decent and wait for him before he exited the bed as well, still wearing his stained boxers. Marching as fast as he could while still trying to hold some dignity for himself, he Mike in the bathroom.

 

-

 

After the pair had been cleaned up and dressed in fresh new clothes, they decided to finally address what neither of them had been willing to talk about - Mike's return to the **S.O.L.** They sat in the main lab, eating the now cold burritos that Clayton had brought for dinner before their impromptu dance/sex session. It wasn't that good, but in all honesty neither of them were hungry. And uncomfortable silence stretched out between Mike and Clayton as they munched on their cold Mexican. Mike swallowed a rather large bite, coughing a bit into his hand before setting down what was left of his food at his side.

 

"So what happens next?" He asked, voice shaky with nervousness.

 

"I'm not sure," Clayton replied with genuine honesty. "We don't have a particularly normal relationship."

 

"I very much enjoyed having sex with you."

 

"I second that notion."

 

"When you try to be nice, you're actually quite fun to be around."

 

"You're continuous snark and optimism never ceases to amuse me."

 

"I kind of _really really_ like you."

 

". . . I kind of _really really_ like you too." The room became silent once more. Mike rubbed his hand against his opposite arm. Clayton twiddled his thumbs in uncertainty.

 

"You're going to have to send me into space again," Mike said in a very distinct voice. Clayton became confused at the demand, scratching the top of his head.

 

"You want to go back?"

 

"I have to go back. I couldn't leave the robots up there all by themselves. I promised them I would never abandon them." Clayton still wore a look of confusion on his face before nodding in an attempt to understand.

 

"Does that mean it ends here?" He questioned, angry at himself when he heard his voice waiver. Mike felt his heart break at the tone, rising to his feet and quickly making his way towards Clayton. He held out a hand and pulled the older man up to his feet, leaning forward and kissing his as gently as he could to try and help him understand.

 

"No. It doesn't mean that. I very much like you and you very much like me. And we can very much like each other if you're down here and I'm up in space. In all honesty, I couldn't imagine having it any other way, not watching terrible movies and getting food poisoning and running around the S.O.L. with three robots on my heels."

 

"You want us to continue . . . being together . . . apart?"

 

"Yes. And if it gets to sucky not being able to talk to each other and be with each other freely, I can fake being poisoned at Crow's expense. You can send me down, we can kiss, have sex, and relax for a few days." Clayton seemed to agree with the last part, grabbing Mike's hands and threading their fingers together. He leaned forward, kissing Mike's cheek with a whisper of all right. If they were going to continue with their normal routine, so be it. He at least had the knowledge that Mike liked him equally and had no possibility of falling in love with some other mad scientist.

 

“I should probably get going, you know. The bots will think you've killed me if I'm not back soon," Mike said with a laugh. His bag had already been packed, and Clayton nodded in understanding.

 

"I want you to take the records and the record player," he said, heat rising to his cheeks. Mike's face broke out into a smile, and he quickly pressed a kiss to Clayton's lips in thanks. Breaking away from the older man, Mike sorted through the box and pulled out the record they had listened to all of last night. He brought it over to Clayton, pressing it against his hands with a smile. It was a gift.

 

"Keep this here, just in case." Mike whispered. And with that, the two of them gathered up Mike's belongings, heading to the Docking Bay with their elbows brushing and mirroring grins splayed across their faces. It definitely wasn't the end, not by a long shot.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO !!!!! thanks a lot for reading !!!! comments/criticism are welcome but please be gentle ... this is my first fic ever and i wrote it in like five days ? six ? i dont fucking remember but hmu @ kamerlort.tumblr.com if you wanna yell at me for posting this ......... once again honestly thanks for reading this if you did it means a lot ! :+))))


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